


Keep Going

by ellabelladani



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Teen Wolf Fan Fiction Contest, a lot of feels i suppose, future fic that deals with (spoiler) the passing of a father, this was my entry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-02
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellabelladani/pseuds/ellabelladani
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is avoiding hospitals again for a new reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Going

He tried not to remember a thing about where he was or who he was or how he got there. Maybe it was because he wanted to forget so badly he made himself believe it hadn’t happened. Slowly he lifted his eyelids and two dazed eyes emerged. He was lying on an extremely stiff mattress with layers of musty blankets piled on him.

 

He looked and saw nothing; nothing but a turquoise colored wall encircling him. It seemed as though the wall was trying to enclose him. Trap him. Gobble him up and whirl him around so he just kept spinning indefinitely. The wall seemed as if it were the ocean desperately trying to seize him. He shut his eyes, as if ordering the wall to stop. It didn’t. He escaped only by slowly drifting back to sleep. 

 

He had hoped that when he awoke from his deep slumber his troubles would have passed. Maybe everything could go back to normal. He knew in the back of his mind that it wouldn’t happen. He thought briefly about getting up. Fear deep inside him told him not to. If he could just stay there, buried beneath his covers, he could block the world out. 

 

Absently, he thought of his old friend’s gerbil, Fred, curled up in a ball. Fred was allowed to hide from everything. He had no disappointments or concerns. He had no troubles in his life. He wasn’t forced to decide on anything more consequential than whether he should sip from the water positioned at the exact level of his mouth or lie there. Fred could always crawl under the dusty wood shavings that lined his cage. It was a hard thing to admit, but he had gotten to the point where he was jealous of a gerbil.

 

He heard his phone ringing from the kitchen just outside his threatening walls. When he needed to talk to somebody the phone rang twice and then they hung up. When he desperately wanted people to just leave him alone it seemed as if the phone rang for hours. Thankfully, the answering machine finally picked up.

 

“Stiles are you there? Pick up the phone! Fine, you’re not there. Call me back when you get this. We really need to talk.” 

 

It was Derek on the phone, the one person he wished it wouldn’t be. He knew what he had to say and it wasn’t the things he wanted to hear.

 

As he thought back he forced himself to remember. He thought about the day, about a month ago, when his father took the fateful trip to the doctor. 

 

“The test results seem to have shown cancer.” When Stiles listened to what the doctor said, his heart froze. It still hadn’t thawed.

 

He remembered thinking: My dad cannot have cancer. My dad is the sheriff of Beacon Hills. My dad watches baseball with me and Derek every Sunday. My dad is the only thing I have left. He… This couldn’t happen. 

 

Stiles couldn’t bear the thought of hospitals. He didn’t have a nice past with them. Who really did? He recalled when he was hospitalized due to a broken leg. His mother had raced him to the hospital with a worried look on her face. Stiles also remembered when his own mother had died in that same horrible place. He wished his father wouldn’t be next. 

 

His last trip to see his father was not a good one. He thought about his father’s pale face at the hospital and the sad look in Mrs. McCall’s eyes. It was too much for his hollowed out heart to endure, so he ran away. 

 

Stiles liked to run. When he ran it seemed as if nothing could touch him. The only thoughts he had were to keep going. Keep pushing a bit further. It didn’t matter where he went as long as his legs kept flowing forward; perfectly synchronized. He had run all the way from the hospital trusting his legs more than his brain. They had guided him straight home, leaving him to his misery. He thought: I’ve got to do something. 

 

He knew where he had to go. He knew what he needed to do. Halfheartedly, he looked for some clothes. They were all dirty. He pulled some out of the laundry he was never planning on doing, put them on, and ran out the door. 

 

Stiles ended up at the hospital. He ventured toward the door and it automatically opened. A gust of an over air-conditioned breeze hit him. It’s freezing in here. You’d die of the cold in this place. Then he realized most people would die here anyway. 

 

He went to the waiting room; needing to sit down. He looked at a three-year old magazine about heart procedures. The disturbing pictures of sick insides made him want to throw up even more than he already did. He looked around nervously, not seeing a familiar face. 

 

Stiles walked into his father’s room. A werewolf sat in the corner, brows furrowed, looking disheveled and distraught. He wore his ever-present leather jacket and black jeans. He also happened to be his husband. After a beat, he gazed upwards, looking at him. 

 

“I’m so glad you came, Stiles.” 

 

He steeled himself to look at his father. Oh. My. Lord. The sheriff had grown dramatically weaker. Stiles scurried over to touch his father’s hand. It felt limp. His father whispered to him,

 

“Keep on going for me, Stiles, keep on going.”

 

The eyes of his father closed. His hand drifted off of Stiles’. No. His father was gone. A tear trickled down his cheek. It landed on his father’s arm. He momentarily forgot Derek was in the room. He walked over to him, looked at Stiles and knew. He cried too. 

 

Stiles dashed back to his father’s house. No wait, no one’s house. Possibly it was his now? He let out a deep sigh; perhaps trying to be rid of all the deep sorrow he felt aching in his chest. He drifted to the driveway of the old memory filled house. He shoved his thin hands under the stack of newspapers. When he glanced at them he noted that they were addressed to his father. He observed the days that should have rained and didn’t and the days it was predicted to be clear and it poured. 

 

This was not what Stiles had wanted. He wanted the doctors to be wrong. They weren’t. He had someone taken from him once again. His mother left him many years ago and now his father was gone too. He hardly had a family anymore. No, maybe he did. What about Derek? And the pack? And Scott? They counted for something. They would look out for Stiles. Wouldn’t they? Above all, he had Derek. He needed him. They could take care of each other, two broken men torn down by the tragedies of this world. Derek laid a firm, comforting hand on Stiles’ shoulder and he knew. He was safe. He had a family. He would miss the one’s he had lost, but then again, what was it his father had told him? Oh yes… keep going.

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually something I have been working on for a while, I hope I got it right. Comments = love. :}


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